Page 89 of A Country Kind Of Love
It can’t be.
Surely not.
The woman turns sideways. She gestures towards Charlene, a brief familiar wave. She knows that body: the broad shoulders, the perky behind, the long disproportioned legs, even the way she lifts her arm and signals hello with two fingers outstretched and the otherscurled back.
Peyton takes a deep breath. She swears she can smell her, even from across the room. It wouldn’t be the first time her mind has played tricks on her. Yesterday she thought she saw Cleo exit their apartment building seconds before she made it to the steps outside. She went so far as to walk to the end of the street to check, but whoever it was haddisappeared.
Am I hallucinating?
Peyton adjusts the height of the microphone to make it look like the gap in the set is just to build suspense. People can’t knowshe’s crazy.
Stay focused.
The silence lingers. There’s a cough from a young woman to her right that snaps her out ofthe trance.
“Sorry... I... thought... never mind... here we go.” Her fingers glide over the keys like they were made to play this song specifically. Just as she comes to the end of the eight bar intro Cleo’s face comes into view.
She is here.
Peyton’s fingers halt. The echo of the final chord vibrates from wall to wall. Cleo stares directly at her. Her neck is straight, and her lips are curled upwards. Cleo is always so self-assured; it’s a quality Peyton finds enviable. She shakes her head to adjust her wet hair. It falls uncharacteristically frazzled at either side of her face, but regardless she pulls it off. There’s a sense of urgency in her eyes. Her mouth is slightly ajar. Her chest rises and falls with the force of someone who’s been rushing.
Peyton turns her head to Jesse. He looks between her and Cleo. He makes his way to the stage. A second later he whispersin her ear.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you can kick my ass later. I wasn’t sure she’d come, but this is your opportunity.”
“Are you crazy?” Peyton growls.
“Trust me.”
Jesse reaches for the microphone. “Hi everyone, my name is Jesse. I’m Peyton’s manager. We have a surprise for you this evening. Peyton was not in on the surprise, hence the confusion on her face.” The crowd find that funny. Jesse points to Cleo. “As Peyton mentioned, this song was originally a duet, and tonight we have the singer from that original duet.”
You have got to be kidding me. Peyton can barely regulate her breathing as the room closes in.
“Please welcome to the stage, Cleo Landry.”
Jesse squeezes Peyton’s shoulder. “Crush it,” he whispers on the way back to his seat. She wants to crush him, but she’ll wait until they’re home to feed him to his tarantula.
Cleo makes her way purposefully toward the stage with an air of confidence. She carries a guitar case in her left hand. God, she looks good. She climbs the stage and sits beside Peyton in the vacant chair. The second microphone is already in place. Cleo adjusts the height to be level with her lips. It only takes her a second to remove her guitar from the case. She gently tugs in various places along the length of the strings until she’s comfortable with the tune.
The audience grows impatient the longer they wait. Peyton wants a curtain to fall like at the end of a Broadway show. She needs some privacy. She needs five minutes alone with Cleo to figure out what the hell she’s doing here, but they don’t havethat luxury.
“Just look at me,”Cleo mouths.
Gulp.
Peyton closes her eyes momentarily. She starts the intro again. The crowd goes silent. You can hear a glass hit the table on their left, a chair scrape along the floor in the middle, and the air-conditioning unit expel air at the back. The keyboard slowly takes controlof the room.
It’s back, the instant pull she felt the first time she met Cleo. Bam! Just like that, the intense eye contact causes Peyton to look away. One look is all it takes. She can taste the sweet-smelling pheromones exuding from her body.
The strange tingly feeling people call “butterflies” is in full motion now, but butterflies is the understatement of the century. Peyton feels like there’s a safari stampede in her stomach, and itwon’t stop.
Cleo sings the opening line to the second verse. Peyton is captivated, completely, unblinking as her eyes gaze between Cleo’s soft lips and the crinkle in her nose. Suddenly there is no Bluebird, no audience, no Shonda or Jesse; it’s just the two of them serenading one another with the words that once held so much meaning. Maybe they still do, at least to Peyton. She manages to play the keyboard subconsciously despite Cleo’s stare. The heat rises from her chest. Even Cleo’s neck is perfect; there’s a small indent that moves in and out as she mobilises hervocal cords.
Cleo turns to engage with the audience. For a split second, the ridge of her nose, the way small strands of hair curl around her ear, the structure of her jawline, it’s enough to give Peyton heart palpitations. Peyton has seen people that are blessed with a good profile; Cleo must have been glorified among the angels. She is a rare human specimen.
They sing the second chorus together.
“I didn’t think it was in my cards, but now I’ve pulled a queen into my arms.”
